Leslie Jamison News

So I recently had a crisis of purpose about blogging. To be honest, more like the sudden crystallization of an ongoing but repressed crisis of purpose about blogging. I became a writer partially because I hate being observed—can even start crying, if it happens for too long—and yet I currently spend money I don’t have to upkeep a site devoted to cultivating observation. My worst nightmare is asking somebody out for coffee or ice cream and they say, no. A website is like that, only with the whole world, and anyone, anywhere, can say, no. By never coming to my website, which some small part of me will take personally even if I never even know about it. All of this to say: a crisis of purpose.

So then I had this idea to make a blog-roll. I’ve always noticed these. You kind of declare your posse. I thought, even if my own website wasn’t that great, I could turn it into one of those shitty little towns that’s secretly a killer transportation hub. You don’t want to spend the night, but you can take a bus somewhere snazzy.

Like you can go to Tunes for Bears, my brother Julian’s blog about ultrarunning and development economics. Or my friend Colleen Kinder’s global headquarters—full of travel writing that busts the seams of ordinary travel writing, and such beautiful photos you will stay for a long time. Or Fashion for Writers, where my friend Jenny looks and writes hot,; or Large-Hearted Boy, that puts up soundtracks for works of fiction; or the Page 69 Test that is not what you think, and analyzes the 69^th page of books you’ve never heard of…Or the Claudius App, a new poetry journal, which—what to say about the Claudius App? It has a mysterious gray bar.

So go to. Get on the bus. Follow Rabbit Holes. Enjoy.

So I’ve started writing small essays. Like, chronically and relentlessly writing small essays. I don’t know why, exactly, or when or how it started–only that something about this form, its crystalline particulars and fluid boundaries, the lowered weight and heightened freedom of starting out and not needing to end up anywhere in particular, is very exciting to me. Also, to be honest, there’s probably the desire for instant love and affirmation that posting online always chases–and sometimes, in brief glimpses, actually provides. In any case, all this confessional as prelude to the inevitable sampler platter:

Exhibit A: In which I discuss Frida Kahlo’s corsets, generative pain, and highly personal color wheels at The Paris Review Daily.

Exhibit B: In which I discuss green Jell-O shots and and the living mythology of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop at A Public Space.*

Exhibit C: In which I discuss my new neighborhood. Featuring squirrels, meat, and the catcalls of strangers. At The Nervous Breakdown.

Exhibit D: In which I discuss weddings and how it feels to attend them. This will most likely be the first in a thousand-part series. Also at The Nervous Breakdown.

*This post is part of a larger project celebrating the 75th anniversary of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop that can be found here, with awesome essays by Anthony Marra, Maggie Shipstead, Joyelle McSweeney (I loved this one a lot) and others.

Erin Hoover and Paul Martone at Late Night Library sat down and had a long thoughtful conversation about my book. It still amazes me that this might happen, smart people sitting down and talking about something I wrote; I feel grateful for their thoughts and thrilled to share their program with the world.

Go to www.latenightlibrary.org to download a free copy of the podcast.

Like angels, they’ve appointed themselves curators of debut writers. They’ve got podcasts on Traci Brimhall’s Rookery, Kara Candito’s Taste of Cherry, Deanna Fei’s Thread of Sky, and more…